The Sun Never Sets On The British Empire
by M4R1N4 R4CU
Summary: A history-based fic about deputy Arthur Kirkland, disguised intelligence and the tragic tendency of the masses to ignore it...


The Sun Never Sets On The British Empire

"Other Empires have fallen...but ours never shall. We are favoured by fate- "

Arthur smiled at his audience. Half of them were asleep, weren't they?

Oh, he'd show them.

"Because we're so hot!" he exclaimed.

The younger deputies burst into laughter and applauded. The older ones, most of whom formed the sleeping population of the conference hall, shot awake and eyed Arthur, scandalized.

`"You heard me, mates! Them Frenchies will never own as much land as us!"

This time, the whole hall erupted into applause. Arthur stole a glance at his boss, half-expecting her to shoot flame out of her mouth, like a heavily-powdered dragon swathed in expensive silks from India. But Queen Victoria was daintily covering her mouth and Arthur could detect a slight tremble in her shoulders. His own shoulders sagged with relief. She was laughing!

Waiting for the titters and applause to die down, Arthur paused for effect, smiled at the vast crowd of politicians and took a drink of water.

"We are great, and powerful! We have mastered land, sea, and air- "

"Heya, whippersnapper!" came a wheezy, raspy old man's voice. Arthur and most of the deputies turned around to see an old, wrinkled politician who looked like he had been alive forever waving his gold-studded cane in Arthur's direction.

"Yes, deputy Winklehurst?" Arthur patiently said, summoning all of his diplomatic calm in order to not ask the problematic prude to shut the bloody hell up. Count Winklehurst had been a member of the Whig faction for as long as any diplomat of the British Empire could remember and had a burning dislike for all diplomats under the age of 50. (Of course Arthur was unimaginably older, but the ever-insightful Queen had correctly surmised that should Count Winklehurst be let in on the secret of the Nation-Beings, with his often open mouth and often-moving lips, there were sure to be any amount of unpleasant consequences.)

"This is a horrifying disgrace!" the old man sputtered. "Can you not see this meeting was called for the discussion of serious matters, not for libidinous jokes! People like you should not be allowed to represent our great nation, nor to speak of their fellow deputies in such a bawdy manner!"

Arthur took a deep breath. "Count Winklehurst, I- "

"Winky-hurst, I doubt that deputy Kirkland was referring to you in his 'libidinous joke'!" came a high-pitched, young-sounding voice. The younger deputies roared with laughter. A quick glance in his boss' direction quickly confirmed to Arthur that the Queen was not amused.

Arthur turned around in a ninety degrees spin which would have done Natalia Braginsky, his ballet instructor who secretly gave him lessons, proud.

It was Alexander Thornberry, a cheery, brown-haired young man who was well-known for his carefully-groomed goatee and taste for trouble. The only reason he was even in the room was because his father, the renowned Robert Thornberry, had considered it a good idea for his 19-year-old son to get a taste of politics. His tight-lipped, pale demeanor now proved to all those interested that he no longer considered it such.

"Young sir Thornberry, I suggest you hold your tongue," Arthur exclaimed for the benefit of Deputy Winklehurst, who was gradually turning an exotic purple with rage.

"How dare you call me 'young sir'?"

"Would you prefer 'his gracious, omnipotent, _omniscient_ Majesty'?"

Laughter erupted once again, reverberating in an unnerving fashion off the marble walls of the Conference Hall.

"If you consider yourself in a position to question my intellect, Kirkland, perhaps you should make good use of yours and explain to us how we have 'conquered the air'?"

The room fell gradually silent. Arthur suppressed the growing urge to flush beet-red as Alexander Thornberry smiled with the smug expression of one who thinks he has gained intellectual victory over another, arms crossed challengingly.

 _It's true_ , Arthur haltingly admitted to himself. Carried away with the undying love he nurtured for his powerful homeland, he really had planted into the fertile soil of his carefully-planned speech the seed of absurdity. And all in the name of poetic license!

"I'll tell you how, _Alex_ ," Arthur quietly answered, underlining the nickname with deadly clarity. He spoke softly, but in the unnatural silence his voice was clearly heard even by those unlucky souls in the back of the Conference Hall. "We have conquered the air, because the common wind fills our flags, hoisted on every single continent; and it makes them soar with triumph as our numerous victories have!"

The silence was immediately ruptured by rippling waves of thunderous applause. Arthur flushed red with relief and smiled tiredly at his fellow deputies. Thornberry the younger's eyes glittered with anger. Thornberry the Elder clapped as loud as the rest.

Even Winklehurst clapped madly, a crooked smile splashed across his walnut-like cheeks.

This was good, Arthur mused. But he was exhausted. Better sum up the patriotic speech quickly and intelligently and return home to his cool, airy mansion.

"We have the land and the sky," he slowly declared, knowing that the undivided attention of everyone in the room was fixed onto every syllable he uttered. "Because the Sun never sets on the British Empire!"

This time, the applause was truly tumultous.

As it finally quieted down and Arthur, tired but mightily pleased with himself, prepared to return to his seat, the golden glow of the afternoon caused him to halt.

He felt like an awkward statue, riveted to the spot, as Alexander Thornberry hopped daintily up beside him and pointed out the window.

His gloved finger carefully followed the swift sinking trajectory of the Sun behind the dark structures that London was comprised of. Its fading aura of warmth enveloped the deputies with increasing tenderness, but Thornberry was anything but tender.

"The Sun never sets on the British Empire!" he softly mimicked the dumbfounded Arthur.

How could he have been so stupid as to utter the motto of the British Empire exactly at sunset? Of course its meaning was entirely figurative, but who was to say that the other dimwitts that shared his rank due not to intellect, but to position and wealth, would understand that?

His prediction had been right. Laughter echoed about the Conference Hall and many a white-gloved finger pointed at the despondent Englishman as he sunk back into his seat.

The chair, which had before seemed so plush, now irritated and pained him. He felt hot and frustrated.

But one glance at the silent Queen sitting above all, and one sight of her approving, empathy-filled eyes immediately reassured him that he had done as pleased her. And to Arthur Kirkland, the representative of England, that was all that mattered.

He leaned with relief against the soft back of his chair.

THE END


End file.
